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Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Rabbi David Fohrman is one of my favorite speakers; I highly recommend his books. He was speaking on Pirkei Avos this past Shabbos, and I just had to tell it over. I've whittled down an hour-long speech into something much shorter, but hopefully all the details are in there.

Vov: "Make for yourself a rav" - Currently, there are only three beings superior to you in the world: One's parents and God. From amongst your peers, select an individual that you aspire to be like, to whom is your ideal. He doesn't necessarily have to be a rabbi; he is your mentor.

"Acquire for yourself a friend" - It sounds almost transactional; "buying" is an uncomfortable term in relationships. But many friendships are based on doing things for each other.

He brings an example if someone goes to car dealership, and the salesman offers you a coke. Don't take it! Why? Because you'll feel obligated to compensate him for that 35 cent soda in the form of a $35,000 car. Doing things for each other has no price tag in terms of equality; I help you, you help me.

These verbs, "make," "acquire," are very powerful, active terms, giving a lot of power to the individual. These two major relationships are the ones that anchor a person onto the straight and narrow.

"Judge everyone favorably" - This is how you treat everyone else besides your "anchoring" relationships; Pirkei Avos is not advocating restricting the social life to just these two. For everyone else in the world, the acquaintances, do not judge them. There is a Judge; that is Hashem. We don't play God by judging others.

If the rav or friend somehow fail in their ideal (such as being seen leaving McDonald's with a cheeseburger at 2 am), then a new rav is needed. One's aspiration cannot remain so if they are tarnished, since they are your ideal as a person. (I thought of this quote during the shiur: "Caesar's wife, like Caesar himself, must be above reproach.")

"Do not befriend a rasha" - A rasha is a charismatic character who can easily suck people into his orbit. He is the anti-rav. He is the one who brings you down to the opposite of what you are trying to achieve.

"Do not depair of punishment" - Some people avoid the rasha and bad neighbor, yet see how they sin, and think, "Why haven't they been punished?" Just because they are not being hit by a bolt of lightning does not mean there is no Judge. Again: There is a Judge. It is just not you.

There are standards, there are rules. One should be aware of those rules. But not by judging others; that is not your job. There is judgment; but it is not done by you, and it will be done even if you cannot see it.

Friday, May 27, 2011

It took great experimentation, much research, and spent money. I now bestow upon thee . . . the premiere of Shabbos Face. Bum bum bum bum . . .

Be aware that Shabbos Face can also be synonymous with Simcha Face.

The face must be prepped. Since this face will be on for 25 hours, no errant traces of dirt should be trapped beneath all that makeup. I use an exfoliating scrub in the shower, and before applying the face I give a swish of toner to make sure everything is off.

Step 1: Primer

Primers give the makeup a smooth base, can fill in wrinkles, and the makeup will last longer. I didn't bother with it until I came across Cover FX Clearprep Matte Foundation Primer and Anti-Acne Treatment. It has salicylic acid, which prevents and treats blemishes, a plus if a Face is going to be on for more than a day (also great for the summer months).

Sometimes I feel as though this primer needs to be mellowed a little (like in the winter), as I do have combination skin, and I once got a sample (pays to be a Beauty Insider) of Korres Face Primer. I liked it so much I bought it in full size. This moisturizes the face lightly and pleasantly, and I combine the two.

The most loved primer out there, for those who do not have complicated skin, is Smashbox Photo Finish Foundation Primer. It is highly recommended by practically every "expert" out there, and my mother (the guru) really loves it.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Recently I took a trip to . . . well, for anonymous purposes, let us say Tatooine. A close friend of the family who lives there has been begging me for the past five years to go out with this "great guy." I've managed to put her off since he wasn't coming here nor I there, but since I was in town I received a phone call that I would be going out with him on Motzei Shabbos.

This was the first time a date had been arranged for me without previous contact by the other party himself, but I was powerless to resist. I didn't even know his name.

So I shall tag him here as Greedo, the Rodian bounty hunter that attempts to shoot Han Solo in the cantina but ends up getting blasted instead.

Shabbos ends really late this time of year in Tatooine (two suns and all). At 11 pm, Greedo pulls up in front of the hotel and honks. Good thing I was waiting in the door (I can't stand to keep people waiting).

As soon as I saw his face in the window I knew. Greedo and I went out six years ago.

Damn.

Of all the natives on Tatooine, I end up with the same one?

The night did not improve.

"You were bigger then," he said repeatedly. Yes, by about ten pounds. It's not like I was a Jenny Craig "Before and After."

"You're eccentric," he insisted. Eccentric makes one think of someone who wears meat or shows up to an award show in an egg, like Lady Gaga. How about "unique"? Much more flattering.

He went out with my cousin the previous week, and really liked her, to the point he didn't stop mentioning her name. I'm sure you'd rather be with her right now, dude, but you're stuck with me.

"You make me feel short." I am shorter than him by a few inches.

"I have a cold," he whined.

"I didn't sleep this afternoon," he grumbled.

"I have to go the gym in the morning," he hinted.

Then why are you keeping me out for three hours? I didn't ask for this time slot.

"You haven't changed at all," he trilled over and over.

"Neither have you," I eventually responded. He was this charming then, too.

"I think I have."

Oh?

"I believe I'm more patient now."

So you are nobly putting up with me.

Before this date I was nervous that a move to Tatooine was in my imminent future, so at least I have no worries on that score.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

For me, bad dates aren't the obnoxious ones; they don't scare me, and sometimes I teach them a thing or two about menschlachkeit.

My bad dates are with boys that I pity. Boys who were probably beaten up during recess for being clueless nerds (not for being brilliant; they go into another category) and think they can smooth-talk this girl into believing they are the coolest thing since air-conditioning. (I have no problem with nerds. Just own that you are a nerd, and stop trying to be something that you are not.)

I smiled, made the polite responses to his conversation, but inside I was praying for sanctuary. Not traffic! Not more chatting! I soldiered on.

***

My nephews and nieces are now old enough to realize that something is not right. Something is missing. They look at their friends' older siblings, ask my age, and are puzzled. "Lea," they ask, "when are you getting married?"

It is particularly hard on the children who have rarely been to weddings, who want to not only be a part, but a center of them. I remember how it was by my sister's wedding—I'm important, I'm the sister, this is my party. I don't mind if they feel the same way. That's what kids think at 10.

I sprang out of the car, pleading I had to go in to help my folks with the einiklach who were staying over. He drove off, triumphant, not expecting the inevitable "No" from the shachan, and I felt even worse.

I staggered into the house, where three pairs of young eyes greeted me at the door, looking expectant. I collapsed, faux-sobbing, on the 8-year-old's neck.

"It's okay," she soothed, stroking my back. "You don't have to see him again."

Bless you, child. Despite her burning desire for wedding festivities, where she can sit up front by the badekin and chuppah, where she can have made-up hair and wear a billowing dress, she will put my needs first, trusting my judgment.

Her sister thinks I'm being unreasonable, however. "Was he really so bad?" she wheedles.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

My older brother, as a child, was obsessed with growing up. Not to become a mere big brother or even a Tatty; he wanted to be a Zaidy. He would gaze, with anguished longing, at the beer bellies of the gray haired.

My mother's cream-fueled actions to achieve the opposite, however, had them clash. She would come into his room, freshly shmeared with goo, to kiss him goodnight.

He would frantically attempt to scrape off any errant lotion traces that had transferred. "I'm going to become young!" he would shriek in panic.

Cute anecdote said, let us explore how to reverse the signs of aging (as speeding up the process is all too easy).

AHA!

Literally, AHA - or Alpha Hydroxy Acid. There are a few subcategories to AHA, such as glycolic, lactic, or citric acids. Wikipedia explains it on the chemical level, but all that matters is that while it helps the skin to shed dead skin cells, it also rebuilds skin, increasing collagen, making it thicker.

Cool, no?

Glycolic acid (my particular favorite) can deal with oily skin and be anti-wrinkle. My skin is combination, with an oily T-zone and occasional blemishes, so glycolic is ideal for me.

For those new to AHA, I would recommend starting with low concentrations and gradually increasing the strength. My skin is like the Borg; it eventually adapts to anything I throw at it, but initial use does sting, so move slowly.

Reviva Labs Glycolic Oily Skin Cream 5%. It smells a bit like marinated socks, but it is really good skin treatment. I mix a little with my tinted moisturizer during the summer to hinder oil production.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Considering the topics I'm delving in, it could give the erroneous impression that I'm one of those girly-girls whose favorite color is pink, who enjoyed shopping at 8, who begged their mothers to wear lipgloss at fourteen.

They are way off.

My most despised hue as a child was pink (I still avoid it). It was my dream to be a tomboy, but I fall like a ton of bricks (splat) and can't throw. My out-of-school uniform until I was 15 was a ratty sweatshirt I had stolen from my brother and a Biz skirt. I refused to wear makeup at his wedding the same year, despite my mother's begging/threats. I didn't like to shop until 18. I never wore makeup on weekdays until a year ago - at age 24. 24!

Yes, I am slow.

I came to the conclusion that I don't want to be typical, and I thought my only other option at that time was to eschew fashion in any form. My sister-in-law changed that by showing me by example how to look chic yet unique (not necessarily trendy), and I developed my own sense of style.

I was thinking how everyone nowadays wants to be able to classify their fellow humans. People are no longer permitted to be different. If one does one thing, then they must obviously do the other. No personal quirks are allowed; they must be categorized and labeled like insects in an entomologist's drawer.

I was watching an interview of Edmund Morris, who wrote a trilogy on Teddy Roosevelt.

Teddy was an eccentric, a moralist, an elitist, an intellectual, a Republican, the trust-buster, a regulator of big business, a man of society, a voracious hunter, the first conservationist - a man of many facets and talents, even seeming contradictions.

Morris says that he would not have been elected nowadays; presidents must have monochromatic lives (lawyers who become professional politicians) who do not diverge away from their party's mission. Any sort of interesting dimensions are shmecked out and demonized.

I'm not saying that I am not guilty of that sort of prejudgment and classification. But then again, I am sure I have been prejudged and classified. All that matters is that we don't act on it, that we can meet people with our shotgun opinions shoved to the side, clearing the mind for open and welcoming thoughts.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

The benefits of mineral makeup are still being debated. Some claim it's all hype, others say it's the best stuff possible for skin.

I'm leery of any company that claims "all natural" - practically everything has a "natural" source. There isn't regulation as to what constitutes "pureness" of mineral makeup. However, it doesn't clog pores, plus many don't have fragrances, binders, or synthetic dyes (all courtesy of WebMD), making it also seemingly ideal for sensitive skin. Checking the ingredient list is still recommended.

But in any case, mineral makeup is my foundation of choice.

I haven't ever tried liquid foundation; the only way I started wearing makeup to begin with was because of tinted moisturizer, and I never looked back.

But as the years passed, the moisturizer wasn't enough; it didn't provide enough coverage, and my face would become shiny as soon as I left the house. So I went back to the Laura Mercier counter at Saks that gave me the tinted moisturizer and bought the Mineral Powder, which is highly reviewed and remains one of the top selling mineral makeups.

I've recently decided that the shade (Sand) was too dark, and a useless "color associate" at Sephora still insisted it matched my skin tone. Yeah, if I want a fake tan.

This occurred on the same fateful day as the tinted moisturizer purchase, so she, of course, handed me straight yellow, or Light. I exchanged it for the Golden Fair, which was still too yellow.

It was during this time that I learned that there are brands who keep their color palette either yellow and pink, or neutral. Bare Escentuals appears to be of the former.

The week of Pesach had a coupon promotion at Sephora (which Sporadic Intelligence was also aware of). After vigorous online comparisons, reading of reviews, peering at the shades, I decided to check out the:

I came armed with the Laura Mercier and the Bare Escentuals, and after squinting at the two for comparison under Sephora's insufficient lighting, I selected Light Beige 020. It matches pretty close to perfect (I took back the bareMinerals for a store credit).

If I end up not being as pleased with it, I will definitely inform the public.

My other option to check out was the Clinique Superbalanced Powder Makeup. It's pretty darn cool - the makeup is freshly ground. The consistency is also lovely, not so dry. The color palette also steers toward neutrality, so if one has very olive or pink skin tones I would suggest they should rather try the Bare Escentuals.

If one has dry skin, I don't think mineral makeup is the best option; it's very drying, it being a powder and so absorbs moisture. Rather stick to liquid foundation, and a light dusting of powder on top to set.

Friday, May 13, 2011

It was my cousin's - actually second or third cousin's, can't keep track - wedding. She had been dorming in the city as she was from out of town, and she had mixed seating by the tables. I was cool with it, although the fellas seemed unhappy at having to sit with people they didn't know, perking up considerably when more familiar faces showed up.

By the dancing, she beckoned me over. We bounced back and forth a bit, then she stopped, my hands clasped in hers. I was wondering what was going on, as the music was still blaring.

Uncharacteristically, she began to prophesy and bless me as though she was Mother Theresa.

May you have this and that, and so forth. I started feeling a little awkward, and made a tentative attempt to reclaim my hands.

Her grip tightened.

"And if you should meet your bashert tonight," she continued to intone, "it will give me joy to know I brought the two of you together . . . "

Now I started to tug frantically.

Seriously? She seats me at a table with a bunch of guys who'd rather be elsewhere, and she already has me married and claiming shadchanus?

I do not deny that kallahs have a special day. But they are not exactly the status of Devorah HaNiviah.

I eventually managed to yank my hands away, flushed with both exertion and embarrassment. Did she do this to every poor unmarried sap who danced with her?

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

In light of Bad4's debate about fake vs. real hair, I decided to post this earlier than I had planned.

This is going to sound bizarre, but let me tell the whole story before I am judged.

To begin, I am not seeing anyone at the moment, nor am I desperate.

Disclaimer said, I shall commence:

My mother a while back bought a Freeda precut, and under the high recommendations of a few people, went to someone who shall remain nameless to get it styled. The woman has very sharp eye, except she cut the wig too short in the back, to the point my mother does not feel comfortable in it. That can't grow back. $500, plus $350 in a cut, down the drain.

I happened to love the sheitel on my mother, but she is adamant about lack of security while wearing it. So one Shabbos afternoon, after my father had gone to mincha, I took the wig out and started messing around (it was a very long afternoon).

First I took some large hair clips, and messily clamped clumps of hair to my scalp. Then, I pulled on a wig cap that I had bought for my sister (this one is very good because it doesn't dig into the scalp; I had purchased another one that was made of unrelenting fabric that ripped during the first use). Then, I negotiated my way into the sheitel.

And it looked fabulous on. Of course, it needed some more pruning, but I made a few discoveries.

1 - Freedas are really light and comfortable. My sister (married 15 years) will concur they are the only way to go.

2 - Wig caps rock. They hold every strand in, so no worries about stray hairs making a run for freedom.

3 - It is possible to keep hair long and still wear a short bob of a wig. I happen to love bobs. My hair is thick and somewhat long, yet I was able to tuck it into a wig without much fuss.

No, that's not me. Merely illustrating a bob wig, available on savvysheitels.com

I threw my head around a bit to make sure it was securely on. It wasn't budging.

Monday, May 9, 2011

I am very fond of my TV, and I have always remained loyal to Law & Order. You can imagine my shock when it was canceled, but I hope the new spin-off, Law & Order: LA will survive. I have a thing for Alfred Molina (he can play anything! Anything, I tell you!)

The most recent episode, entitled Reseda, has the detectives attempting to locate a suspect, which eventually points them to a gold dealer. The character is wearing a large velvet kapul and tzitzis down to his knees. They strong arm him into assisting with a sting to apprehend the suspect by threatening to charge him with the fraud he is obviously committing. The following scene has Mr. Molina comfortably donning a kapul and tzitzis, posing as the dealer's nephew (I had seen him play Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof on Broadway, so this is not his first time playing Jew).

My point here is not my L&O fetish, my hope for the future of television, or Alfred Molina. My point is that the writers felt perfectly within their rights to pose the dealer as a religious Jew that of course commits fraud, an accusation which he does not bother to deny. Nor will I blame the writers as being fabisiner anteh-semit.

If the newspapers regularly report of the guilt of observant Jews with financial shtick, why should I hold a bunch of TV writers to task? It is not unheard of to come across a black hatter who has served time.

I have heard on numerous occasions how theft is one of the worst sins a Jew can commit, as it is one of loudest declarations that God doesn't exist. If a Jew believes that everything he is supposed to receive is from God, and that no matter what he does that amount will not change, then how can he steal? What would it gain?

If (and I mean "if") there are thieves amongst us, then it would be one or two misdirected individuals. But that it has come to a point that tzitzis = thief? If anything, a kapul should be associated with a strong desire to do, whether publicly or privately, the right thing.

We are no longer in countries that garnished our income without impunity; we are no longer being taxed unjustly by venomous overlords; we are now in a land that permits us to practice our religion without terror and persecution. Is this how we show our hakoras hatov? Is this how we show our relief at finding a safe haven after millenia of torture and unrest?

Friday, May 6, 2011

Firstly, the concept how one-sided cell conversations are more annoying then overhearing two people chat. Apparently the brain has difficulty tuning out half of a conversation, meaning my nearly violent frustrations with fellow train or elevator riders (scroll down to "Wait for the Doors to Open") is warranted.

Secondly, and this is for the lovely ladies and germs on the singles market, the idea that the very quality that drew two people together will become unbearably irritating, given time:

What about your own personal irritant, the spouse who was so enchanting during courtship and is exactly the opposite now? Studies show that precisely those traits that once attracted often begin to repel. Once he was cool; now he is cold. Once she was adoring; now she smothers. Here the problem seems to be a matter of dose.

I was reminded of something Joy Behar said a while back (sometimes "The View" is watchable). She was saying how at the beginning, the wife gushes, "Oh, he's the strong, silent type." A few years later, she's shrieking, "What's wrong with you? Are you mute?"

As a word of warning, keep your eyes open and use your imagination of how a quirk that seems adorable now can become like nails on a chalkboard with too much familiarity. Then draw up a cost/benefit analysis to see if the other person, as whole, is worth it (very often I am sure they are). But then you cannot throw that irritation in the significant other's face ten years later; after all, you knew what you were getting into.

And don't talk on the cell phone around people. They all want to kill you. (An aside: cell phones use while traveling should be avoided; every time it hits a new tower, the phone gives off a fresh burst of radiation.)

But also, the review mentions how perpetually annoyed people are annoying in themselves. Kvetching all the time is a no-no.

As an apple, the best skirt style for me is the pencil. In times of post-Pesach weight crises, I wear a peplum jacket (awesome style for apples - the jacket flares out after the waist, hiding the boch) to camouflage the front territory.

For the pears, "poofier" skirts are the better option—but they should not be worn with long tops. I have seen this style on pears, and can testify as to the perfection of suitability.

As for skirt length, the general consensus (even amongst the glossies such as Vogue) is for the hem to end right below the knee. Calf-length emphasizes the most unflattering area, and ankle length is fine for the weekday but I don't think is sharp enough for Shabbos or simchas.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

If any blog is to survive, tales of dating are needed, the gorier, the better. I don't have many, but I managed to rustle one up. Bad4 threatened to post it if I didn't, so here goes:

It was one of my earliest dating experiences; my brother knew the suggested date from yeshiva, he wasn't on the terrorist watch list, all was well. I'll be honest - I was young, not the most adept conversationalist, somewhat clueless about body language, and he wasn't having the best time (he could have faked it the way I have on numerous occasions). He made it quite obvious (in word and demeanor) he wasn't enjoying himself, and the shadchan (not the most pleasant woman) gleefully called back expressing the fellow's horror.

The date in question, for purposes of clarification, will be referred to (in the spirit of the Force) as Ponda Baba, the walrus-looking criminal that loses his arm in the cantina after picking a fight with Luke Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi (Obi-Wan did the actual slicing).

Ponda here gets constantly re-redt to me for some reason; over six years, he keeps cropping up. It is probably without his knowledge, so I cannot accuse him of stalking; but in any case it is very annoying when, repeatedly, a shadchan calls breathlessly expounding his name.

A few months ago my neighbor emails me this resume, with Ponda Baba's name in the subject line. I wearily type back a response that I went out with this guy already. I had clicked open the attached resume, and my mother was peering over my shoulder; she said, "That's not him."

The attached photo had a vague resemblance to Ponda (but better looking, dare I say it). The age wasn't right - only two years older than me, while he should be much older, and having been in school with Luke, he named a different high school. His listed height was taller than he was.

I figured maybe this fellow was his cousin, knowing he came from a large extended family; I emailed an amendment that if it is not Ponda, then what the heck. It could be worth a date.

The shadchan calls back, seemingly mad at me, that Ponda and the profile are the same thing.

Huh?

He is younger, taller, better looking, different school, and it's the same guy?

To be dan lkaf zechus, maybe a zealous younger sister hijacked his information, in an attempt to add flare (if not outright falsehoods). A corrupted file transformed his photo. He freakishly grew 4 inches at 28. The resume was old so it says he was younger. He went for a year or two to a different high school and he didn't want it to get complicated.